The Nocturne Wanderer
by Night Strider
Summary: The Nocturne Wanderer walks rampant when half of the world is asleep. Every night, somebody frolics in the dark in a form of beautiful wraith irresistable to any kind...need I say more?ItsukiXSensui


The Nocturne Wanderer

Disclaimer: Yuyu Hakusho characters are borrowed. No way I'm gonna own 'em.

Full Summary. The Nocturne Wanderer walks rampant when half of the world is asleep. Every night, somebody frolics in the dark in a form of beautiful wraith irresistible to any kind. Somebody pines for him, desires him deeper still, and watches him in libertine endlessness. The story behind the meetings of Sensui and Itsuki during their early days when Itsuki ever sought the Dark Angel; How did sensui fall on his trap? The true meaning of pure desire defined...need I say more? ItsukiXSensui.

A/N: This is plotless (if there's such word). I'm just trying to get back the touch and see if I can still write after what's been hampering me; darn school works. Anyway, this isn't gonna be that exciting because it's pure...heart, and it's written in a classical style (Tolstoy and Mishima style, more like). Very mushy. But it's kinda different from everything I've worked on because there are very few dialogues between paragraphs; it's a not-less-than 90 narration I've come up with here, a mere story telling. Anyway, this is goin' to be short; I wouldn't want to waste any of your time, mind you.

Chapter I

So and so minutes before 12:00. Park fountain. Itsuki the Gate Keeper.

Squatted on a boulder sized cement mono-block nearby the park's fountain in his customary Chinese-style get up, he absentmindedly fiddles the half-scalded cigarette rubbing between his thumb and forefinger; a fleecy cloud of white, choking steam is puttering out from his blipped, dry lips like an albino serpent slithering out from a hibernating hole. He looks at it, peruses it with immense steadiness, and reads the hint that's been urging him to snap out of it; it's time. Of course it's peak time to patch things up for the day and run in another full circle; he's almost done with his third stick, he smells very much like burnt tobacco enough, and it's a wink from 12:00 in the evening. His vampiric self is breaking from its lethargy, and his throat is in the pinnacle of igniting lust for corporeal fluids, succulent flesh, and translucent skin. He gets his joints flexing, rises up from this fallow murkiness, discards what's left of his smoke, and leaves the park empty, feeling the immense, spiritual weight dangling from his muck-filled slippers and labored brain.

He scrambles through the midnight mist that seems to have rimmed the sticky numbness of this starlit evening, making the biosphere's grayness thicker and somewhat more fragrant than the recurring AM fog. The awakening breeze seems to be in a rapture, sending off its unseen waves to draw back anything that trespasses on its vast territory. But no matter how tremulous the icy wind howls, the Nocturne Wanderer slices further through, gazes skyward, and curls his wistful lips as if in a sinister conatus; his nightly pilgrimage is christened with celestial glimmer, not just a mere gleam, but a surreal, insinuating sheen that lifts up the scrim of pitch storm from one's heavy yoked soul. This is a rather favorable omen to push through this hazy ordeal, he thinks. How he loves the seeping darkness of the milieu around him; its mystery attracts him and the thought of its undisturbed silence ensnares him beyond all worldly longings. Suddenly, the blighting gusts of wind quell within the effete vicinity and all the while, everything seems to leap in delectable accord; behooving him to sire optimism and hope for the fulfillment of his pipe dreams. This is how it feels on the way to Ayanagi street, a torpid, seemingly wayward neighborhood situated between Izanaghi and the forest outskirts, where the connubial residence of the Shinobi family stands.

There he will be, and ever and anon he will be desired by this night stalker without relent. He won't be able to resist him; because to cast a gaze on him is to want him above all else, to seek him is to stumble upon an intractable pit, and to try to dispel his enchantments is to fruitlessly untangle a hardened blob. Shinobi Sensui is everyone's magnetic pole, never the opposite. He is never the possession, at all times he is the captor. He never gets himself submissive, always he is the degage master; and he is the sole proprietor of every aggressive obsession of a far dreamer. Debonair Itsuki is one, and he is painfully aware of this even as he now nears where Sensui is.

Itsuki traipses forward the house in light strides. For a fleeting second, his ears catch a free flowing music. But an incessant sound of force scouring against the floor slaps him back to reality; behind the rough wall and beyond the Shinobi family's entrance gate, somebody's whipping good martial arts practice strokes. Yes, Sensui is also a night walker; he rehearses without let up when the shadows close in, drains the last drop of his stamina nailing punch, and harrows himself until the red disk appears from the east (which explains why he has to spend his sleep hours in school). He loves solitude, and he loves it here in their home garage cum half court sans free-throw line. He pulls away every night in this circumstantial routine; practice deadly attack moves, never knowing what's beyond the thick barrier barricading his eyesight. There Itsuki watches him in the loftiest concentration; not a night passes when his eyes abandon Sensui, except by mischance when an incident requires him to be absent on this silver screen occasion. And now, his lacerated heart shouts to be announced, to be professed, to be revealed by what's been superfluously occupying it all the while; an implacable desire to own the spiritual world detective. He muses; the nightly quest he has travailed so greatly just to be nigh the younger lad must not fall futile, it must be worth the hardship, and now's the drastic time to call for initiative. He must make it known to Sensui here and now that the very thought of him haunts him to the bottomless-ness of his soul, and it torments him. But on the contrary, the memory of this mesmerizing creature lifts all the weariness in him and for Itsuki, Sensui is the Oasis in a barren desert that replenishes energy and drive and he, the auspicious traveler who, after losing his compass and growing debilitated of the harshness of the sandstorms, comes upon this isle of paradise.

Tonight he will do it. He will come to him and satisfy his needs.

TBC 


End file.
